


The Edges of Men

by EerieKing



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Electrocution, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Entity Herman Carter, Sadism, Torture, Torture Porn, blunt force trauma, porn with characterization tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EerieKing/pseuds/EerieKing
Summary: Herman Carter's favorite part of his work at Léry’s Memorial Institute was the freedom to do his worst to people in the pursuit of progress. And, sometimes, for things other than progress
Relationships: herman carter| The doctor/his own ego
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Edges of Men

**Author's Note:**

> Left anon comments on for this one. made an attempt to mimic the absolute -posturing- that exists in his lore entries.
> 
> also the idea for this fic is like...the reason i made this account so...
> 
> enjoy almost 8 pages of herman carter jerking it in a cia black site to someone's suffering.

The crack and hum of the electroshock voltage was like music to Herman Carter’s ears. The man that his “patients” called The Doctor came to life in the treatment theater. It was the closest he had been to the sweet, singing freedom of those few days alone with the students in his class, twisting flesh from bone and playing electricity through their addled minds with stripped down wires. Doing things for the purposes of his explorations alone was ideal: freeing, exhilarating, and _right_.

Léry’s Memorial Institute, as the front for this site was called, had its own purposes, of course. It always rankled Carter a bit to work for anything put the pure pursuit of his own desires, but this job did have its place. The methods were entirely up to him and that freedom had stimulated his interest when he had been offered it. It still kept his interest now. Ethics had no place with the truly brilliant and even knowing what he was capable of, the CIA had still offered Carter the freedom to exercise his brilliance.

His colleagues tended to let him work in private, opting to not bother him much. It was how Carter preferred it. He had long since proved he didn’t work well in an interview dynamic with others. He did, however, function perfectly as a bogeyman in interrogations. His work was the dark potential of what may happen to a subject whose will does not collapse under usual techniques. Carter had no qualms making a subject scream and the backdrop of someone’s voice giving out under the horror of his work could be very effective in breaking the will of those who were less dedicated to their cause.

The chorus of that screaming made a perfect accompaniment to the music of the electricity. Carter had chased the freedom of being unleashed for his entire career. That first experience where he had subjects at his mercy, and the absolutely stimulating power it provided, was his lofty goal. He came close here, in the halls of the Institute. He often came close. Tantalizingly close. Carter was merciless to begin with in the pursuit of his goals, but the sadistic parts of him thirsted for that feeling of utter control. They were parts of him that flourished in his current employ, something that wasn’t actually positive if he was willing to consider the morality of it all.

He wasn’t.

Morals were for lesser men.

Herman Carter had a current patient- subject was preferred as a term, really. ‘Patient’ still intoned some sort of humanity. Once they were his, Carter had no patience for notions of humanity. This subject had been strapped into the electroshock device for some time already and had been resisting his questioning, so Carter had been cranking up the voltage slowly. He decreased the pause in between shocks as well, giving the subject less and less time to respond, with the threat of more pain ever looming. He had left the machine cycling, allowing timed shocks to surge through the subject, pause, and restart on its own, so he could be free to go about his own devices. Resistance was normal in Carter’s subjects. They didn’t send the bogeyman doctor those who gave in easily.

Carter’s devices were varied and many. He had been provided the subject’s files for the interrogation, as always, but after certain amount of resistance Carter turned to more hands-on methods. He filled the space between cycles of the voltage with threats of more violence, and then the application of violence. Carter was quite fond of a metal baton that had come into his care, and a particularly brutal swing on it into the abdomen of his subject had rewarded him with an audible cracking. A rib, perhaps more than one if Carter’s luck was with him. Excisions had to be explained on the reports he gave the Institute, making him shy away from toys that were bladed unless he had purpose for them. Paperwork was a meaningless waste of his time, but impact can be explained by struggle. Even if no one really believed it. He did occasionally miss the blood, though, when subjects fell apart under his hands too quickly.

He had leaned into his subject, knowing the time between shocks as intimately as he knew his own mind, and pushed hard with the butt on the baton into the cracked ribs. His subject squealed in a gratifying way under the pressure. The metal apparatus on the subject’s face made him unable to blink and unable to close his mouth, but Carter could see the hate and pain in the expression regardless.

“The information we require?” He asked, voice rich with the satisfaction of hearing a reaction.

“Fuck you! Get off me!” A pained hiss as Carter pressed harder on what might have been a crack in the bone, but with a sick shift he felt tremble up the shaft of the baton was certainly now a fracture. “I told you! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The subject’s words were strained by the bit of the apparatus that set in his mouth and Carter pulled back, right as his machine began to wind up. He made sure was he was well clear of any conductive risk before the electricity coursed through the subject, from the constellation of electrodes fixed to their freshly shaved head.

Carter cocked his head and watched with delight as the subject spasmed against the chair. The strap across the forehead earlier in the session was the right call, as the voltage was beginning to get serious. Instead of bracing for the shock, his subject jerked and twitched like a puppet controlled by his machine. Carter watched as the electricity took away the ability of his subject to resist, and a spark of thrill ran up his own spine.

When the shock cycled off, the space was filled with the labored panting of his subject. Breathing against a broken rib and trying to cope with the pain, likely. It was very much like a struggling animal, and the sound rubbed against something primal in Carter, in a delightful way. He tapped one end of baton against his hand, a smile starting to curl on his face, as his subject struggling for breath sparked an idea. He stepped into his subject, pressing the baton across the man’s throat. The strong leather strap kept the metal from skin but not doing anything to mitigate the pressure Carter applied. He didn’t allow the subject to catch his breath and the panting turned into gasping against the doctor’s force. The subject thrashed underneath him, but the bonds to the chair held fast.

Carter stepped in close, one foot on either side of one of his subject’s legs and put more pressure on the shaft of the baton, drawing a deep, shuddering breath of his own as his subject choked. The doctor reveled in both the body heat of the man struggling pointlessly underneath him for breath and the threat of the impending voltage. The blown wide pupils, symptom of a mind fucked by the shock, locked on Carter’s own gaze as the subject’s jaw worked, saliva starting to trickle down his chin as he choked. The subject’s lips began to color a sickly shade of blue as he struggled for air, the pulling against the straps bracing his arms getting weaker. The ability to control was, as always, utterly intoxicating. Unfortunately, he had to be at least somewhat patient.

All at once, Carter stepped back, letting his subject wheeze in a breath right before the electricity ravaged him. The gasping continued as the shock paralyzed the lungs, causing drawing breath to be difficult. The subject tried desperately against the apparatus on his face to squeeze his eyes shut reflexively, but only successfully strained his expression into something twisted. There was still no screaming. Shame. Carter preferred the screams. They were gratifying. He wanted that gratification.

When the shock cycled off, the subject gasped for air like a man rescued from drowning. Carter let him, let the gasping slow to panting to heavy breathing. “The information, subject.” Sharp tones to break through the daze of the voltage and the suffocation. “We require the information.”

The subject shook his head against the straps as well as he could, sucking in air through his teeth to swallow the spit that had welled in his forced-open mouth during the round of electroshock. The thought drifted through Carter’s mind that there was a potential, as it had happened before, that this subject legitimately had no information to provide. Those who he was allowed to break down completely during his interrogations became prime candidates for the Institute’s mind control experimentation. It was his favorite part of the work; it was what he was hired for. An utterly broken mind was a blank canvas to be worked with. That was the ultimate power over another human being- making them nothing to remake them. The anticipation of the utter destruction of a mind gave him the swell of the absolute power he always was after, richer than any derived from violence alone, and it was stimulating in more than intellectual ways.

An animalistic ache had begun to beg for his attention, the beginnings of an erection starting to press against fabric as cruel desires were teased by his thoughts. He thought of himself as above other men and unable to be tethered by convention. His whims were his own and he was unafraid of scrutiny. Ever. So, even though he was well aware he could be watched when he worked and secretly as well, it did nothing to curb his arousal.

Carter was also well aware of the fact that those who watched the camera feeds were people paid to work security, not his higher ups critiquing his performance anymore. His results had long since proved his methods. Carter also knew, by the looks given to him by those small-minded imbeciles in the booth when he passed to begin or leave a long night at the Institute, that they didn’t have the stomach to watch him work. When some stray electricity short circuited the camera in his operating room, there wasn’t a complaint about it or anyone who stepped into his laboratory to repair it. Apparently, Carter was allowed to work without eyes on him. He couldn’t say he didn’t like it that way. Especially when those watching don’t appreciate what he could do to the human mind, didn’t revel in it the way that he did.

Revel in it he did. He was half-hard already when he stepped back close to his subject, watching the aftershocks of the last cycle of voltage leave the body’s extremities twitching against the chair. Particularly, Carter focused on the subject’s fingers, dancing against the arm of the chair on their own as the electric overloaded drained from him. The smile on Carter’s face remained, noting that the fingernails were starting to chip and splinter from scrabbling for purchase against the unforgiving metal of the chair. Once, there were leather covers for the arms, but they were shredded by the same grip of men who came before. Carter had discarded them. There was no place for small kindnesses in his work. They just slowed him down. The need for progress coupled with his own sadism drove him now and that was a crippling combination in Carter’s work. For his subjects, anyway.

“Are you willing to speak yet?” Carter asked, dragging one end of the cool metal nightstick along the white knuckles of his subject. He was losing interest in asking the questions over and over again. This time, he wasn’t even sworn at. Tears were starting to stream the subject’s cheeks from forced open eyes, which started to focus on his hands. Excitement rose in Carter’s stomach and his cock responded in kind. Tears were a start.

“Please, I don’t…I don’t know anything.” The subject’s voice was starting to crack. Carter pulled back the nightstick and settled in on his shoulder, watching the subject exhale as if he had been spared something, right before Carter swung it down. The ring of metal on metal sung in the room, covering the sick crunch of finger bones with the sound of the bat glancing off both chair and subject. Finally, a scream tore from the subject’s throat and a grin split across Carter’s face. His trapped cock throbbed, insistent for attention, and for a moment he closed his eyes to savor the swell of arousal. His patience was wearing thin.

It was time to move on. Carter didn’t want any more refusals. He wanted more screaming. He wanted this man to break, even if he had nothing to give. Carter stepped back to the control console for the electroshock machine, taking the folder he had been sent with this subject from the table and beginning to refresh his memory. Admittedly, he was a bit distracted. Carter’s hand occasionally slipped under his lab coat to palm the aching bulge in his slacks as he thumbed through the file. He was making sure there was nothing he had missed about this person but his reread was useless. Carter was usually quite thorough. His hand was still against his dick when the machine began to wind up for the next shock, feeling the heat of his arousal. The scream that filled the room made Carter’s cock twitch under his fingers and he could feel a bead of wetness dampen his crotch. He plied his teeth against his bottom lip, the little pulse of pleasure radiating. It was so gratifying to find the edges of people. It felt better than anything else.

Maybe once, when he was young, Carter’s desire for control and power could have been only intellectual. Perhaps once he could have been satisfied with going down in history, as a figure to be looked up too. That wasn’t the case anymore. It was all now tinged with lust, rawer than any he’d ever experience for just another person. The violence he used to earn that control was the same way. It cracked through him like the electricity he worked with in a way he couldn’t ignore. Really, in a way he had no reason to ignore. Everyone that entered his lab was at his mercy and that was exactly what he was put in this position for.

Carter unbuttoned the bottom button of his lab coat and gave his clothed bulge a firm stroke. He unzipped his slacks and pulled his erection free, drips of precum already wetting his fingers. He closed his eyes and ran his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness over the sensitive skin. A shiver ran up his spine. The machine cycled again, and again the subject screamed. Carter’s sharp mind was distracted by a haze of violence and desire. In the pause between jolts, busy with his own pleasure, Carter didn’t ask useless questions anymore. There wasn’t a point this far into the interrogation anyhow. Admission at this point came from a desperate need for the pain to stop, not from different iterations of meaningless words. Another bead of precum was his body’s answer to the memories and anticipation of that desperation, from countless other subjects and this one. Another crack of voltage ripped through the room, and the scream followed, starting to sound raw. Carter curled his fingers around the base of his cock and started to stroke, dick throbbing in his hand to the sound of the screaming. He let out a slow, controlled breath as he relished the feeling.

“Please” a voice whispered, raw and hoarse, over the humming of the machinery. It was much different than the one that spoke to him before, all cussing and defiance. It caught his attention, distracted though he was, and pulled it to the pathetic thing writhing under the pulses of the electroshock cycle. Bloodshot eyes, pulled wide by the metal apparatus, were strained in their sockets towards him, trying to see the doctor in the peripheral vision. The brown of the subject’s eyes was almost entirely obscured by dilated pupils, paralyzed wide by the shock, despite the bright lights of the room and monitors. The subject’s lips were pulled wide by the apparatus, rubber covered metal set between the back molars to prevent biting through his tongue during the convulsions. Saliva had dripped down the chin and tears stained the cheeks, the body trying desperately to keep the soft parts from drying in vain. Carter’s riled mind found a memory of a time when the apparatus had failed during a subject’s intense shock. Blood had poured from their mouth and they had died, choking, and trying to swallow with only part of a tongue. Carter tightened his grip as his hand slid along his cock, twisted memories finally teasing his body enough that his precum was enough lubricant. He wanted more.

“Please...I’ll do anything…please” the subject slurred desperately through restrained lips. Interesting. The creature was _begging._ This could be the progress Carter was waiting for. “Just stop...the…” The electroshock cycle came off its off timer, and the voice of the subject was cut off into a pained moan that turned into a hoarse scream when the voltage ran through him again. Carter squeezed his cock in his hand, stroking it faster as he watched the electricity ravage the body of his victim. The subject convulsed against his chair, the restraints long since began cutting into his wrists and ankles. When the shock cycled off, the subject sat twitching in the chair, a choking noise that might have been sobs coming from him. “Please…. Let me…Anything.”

Carter understood what the vermin in his chair meant. He was trying to _bargain_ , believing the nightmare doctor he was trapped with would be swayed by use of his flesh. How funny. A breathy, manic laugh escaped Carter as the thrill of it rose in him. He didn’t move from his place by the console, but his hips twitched forward into his hand. He almost moaned. Instead, he licked his lips and took a breath to steady his voice before he spoke.

“The information, subject?” Carter asks, rich tones interrupting the ragged breathing and sobs of the subject strapped into the chair.

“Please…I’ll do anything” The subject chokes out, Carter’s question not even registering.

“Shame.” Carter said, more to himself than to the subject. After so long strapped to his machines, the subject was barely able to string together anything coherent. Ready to become a blank slate to be rebuilt. _Remothered_. Carter loved this part of the process, breaking down the human machine again to put it back together. It was exhilarating. Stimulating. Freeing.

His cock twitched in his hand and he stroked it to soothe the ache as his mind continued to wind thoughts into sick loops. Carter wasn’t interested in stooping to the sort of ‘anything’ the subject was begging for and, even if he were interested, it wouldn’t curry his favor. But the hope, the _hope_ , for a reprieve from the pain that the begging betrayed? That was tantalizing by itself. The fingers of his other hand ran over the controls on the console, the desire for more abuse just as strong as his desire to get off.

“Anything?” Carter asked, that sharp grin on his face as he touched the control. He let his hips rock forward into his palm again, the heat building. Taking in the details of the situation- the dilated pupils of the subject, the ragged breaths slipping passed pulled wide lips, the saliva that the subject struggled to swallow, the bit forcing a mouth open- Carter wondered if the subject was expecting to have that forced open mouth used by him and to be forced to watch while choking to swallow. The thought of someone being willing to offer him anything to not be in the pain he caused was fantastic. The ability to deny such a desperate request was a kind of fresh cruelty and the spike of arousal caused his breath to hitch as he fucked his hand. He was so close now.

“Yes! Anything! Plea-“ The last plea of the subject was cut off by a quick movement of Carter’s hand on the console, cranking the voltage on the machine as far as it would go and flipping the switch from cycling shocks to a sustained dose. The effect was immediate. The ridiculous pleas caught in the subject’s throat, replaced by a scream that strained vocal cords until the voice gave out. The seizing of the subject in the chair was violent, the metal of the chair creaking and rattling. The color of the subject’s eyes disappeared into the back of his head as the convulsing continued, saliva pooling from the mouth. Carter turned to watch then, brazenly in front of blind eyes, as he jerked off to the suffering of his subject. He rested his back against the control panel of the machine and watched the sustained shock puppeteer his subject in sick, unnatural ways. Every twitch, spasm, and choke he watched drove him closer to his peak.

Carter’s strokes sped up, chasing his orgasm, manic grin still on his face as he watched the subject convulse. It didn’t take much longer, lucky for the spasming body strapped to his machine. As Carter came, the hand on the control panel sought for the off switch, pressing it as he continued to thrust into his hand, coaxing every pulse of pleasure from his body. The subject in the chair twitched, as the voltage discharged, but the eyes didn’t refocus on him. He closed his eyes as he rode out the last of it, lips parting in a breathy moan that fell only on his own ears heard. Carter’s abdominal muscles clenched hard and his balls twitched against his body as he spent himself, cum spilling over the back of his hand. He ached with the force his orgasm and the doctor took a moment to catch his breath.

The scent of burnt hair reached him then, and another soft chuckle escaped his lips, as he tucked his softening dick back into his slacks with his clean hand. There was a slight hitch in his breath from oversensitive skin dragging against cloth and he zipped his fly back up. He walked to the sink in his treatment theater where he washed white cum from his dark skin and dried his hands casually, as if what had just happened was a normal part of his procedure. He re-buttoned the bottom button of his lab coat, dusting his hands off the fabric. Then, and only then, did he approach his subject and check for a pulse.

There was one.

Fascinating.

This particular subject survived his cruel desires. Carter took out pen light from his lab coat’s pocket, and clicked it on, moving the light back and forth over his subject’s eyes. No meaningful response. Unconsciousness or brain dead. That was really the question. Carter checked the fixation of the apparatus in the subject’s mouth, noting the strain and cracking starting on the molars that were set against the rubberized metal. A smile started on the doctor’s face again, a plan starting to come together in his mind. Carter’s body was satisfied at the moment, but his mind never was.

Carter turned back to his console, turning dials, and loading tapes into the machine to feed to the constellation of monitors that he pulled levers to adjust into position, right in front of the subject’s unseeing eyes. “Are we ready to continue?” The subject did not react to the sound of his voice, so Carter flipped the switch, pouring another short jolt into the abused brain. The spasm was brief this time, with sharp intake of breath and a choking sob of pain signaling to Carter that he still able to be conscious. How brilliant.

He turned to the subject, who again was straining at his apparatus to see the doctor work. He flashed a smile to what was a man strapped to his chair. “The information, subject?” He asked, voice elevated over the noise.

The subject tried to shake his head against his restraints, desperate sobs the only answer to Carter’s question. Carter shook his head, the sharp smile tearing wide across his face again, as he sought a drawer full of implements to continue his work. A scalpel, electrodes, and their accompanying wires were always kept within easy reach in case the opportunity to press beyond human limits ever presented itself. Or, that is, whether Carter manufactured the opportunity. That line barely existed, especially in the high after an orgasm over torture. His victim squirmed in his restraints as Carter approached him. It didn’t work before, and it wouldn’t work now. There was a flutter of expectation rising in the doctor’s stomach for what came next.

What came next was blood. Paperwork be damned. Carter’s cuts betrayed utter lack of hesitation and he peeled back layers of skin from the subject’s bicep to expose muscle to the song of screaming with a smile ripped wide on his face. Electrodes of his own make would be placed upon the muscle fibers of both arms and matching cuts in the calves, skin held open with clips as blood dripped onto the floor of the treatment theater. It was a game of time now. The subject would break, or he would die of blood loss. The sobbing and screaming melted together in sweet background noise as Carter cut and placed his instruments. Peeling the skin back from the chest, he placed electrodes carefully to not disrupt the heart too much. This was his favorite spot, watching the muscles tremble and jump under his fingers. He could also see the subject watch his hands, and it was too much to resist grabbing the restrained man by his chin and making him make eye contact. What he had done and what he was about to do were equally terrible and equally exciting.

“Let us start again.” This time, his victim would be nothing that Carter didn’t make him. A myriad of possibility played through his mind. There was so much more potential to rebuild once they were nothing. So much more potential even than what they had before his work, in his own opinion. There was so much despair and horror in the eyes fixed on his. There wasn’t doubt about what Carter was willing to do anymore. He had proved to the man he was torturing that the only boundaries here were Carter’s own and those basically didn’t exist. He was unleashed here, and he loved that. When he left his subject, oozing blood and rigged for the worst shocks possible that didn’t involve removing the top of the skull, the doctor left a bloody hand print on the chin of his victim.

When he got back to his console, Carter turned on the monitors in preparation for the next phase. A chaotic clash of noise began as he played the tapes, fifteen different monitors of different sizes churning with violent imagery. Some was of Carter’s own make, of the torture of men who came before, but others were films from worse places than Lery’s, carefully cultivated for desensitization. The pulled-wide eyes of the subject flitted between the screens, a look of refreshed horror beginning to dawn on him as tears continued to flow. Carter’s fingers adjusted a dial and flipped a switch, smiling broadly as a ragged scream ripped down the hall again with the crack of the voltage.

Sometimes, Herman Carter just about caught the horrible freedom he chased. This was one of those times.


End file.
